


The Twilight And The Peace

by such_heights



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: mcsmooch, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-27
Updated: 2008-11-27
Packaged: 2017-10-18 01:36:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/183541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/such_heights/pseuds/such_heights





	The Twilight And The Peace

"No, absolutely not, this whole design is disastrous - have I taught you nothing about the basic principles of physics, or even drawing in a straight line? Showing up with this has to be a joke, right?"

Rodney gives the glider plans in front of him a deeply despairing look, and the two girls responsible for its creation glance at each other uneasily. Rodney sighs a little. "Well, look. I didn't say it was _entirely_ hopeless - but you need to go right back to the drawing board, actually think about dynamics rather than whatever you think's prettiest, and maybe - _maybe_ \- we can rescue this and make it airborne."

The girls start to smile at that.

"Ah, no, don't you sit back and feel pleased with yourselves, not until you've got a working model at the very least. Now go on, go away and get back to work, I'm a terribly busy man."

"Thank you, Rodney," Karah says, taking her friend's hand and leading them away, their conversation already turning to what their next step should be.

"Actually, it's Doctor--" Rodney starts, then laughs at their retreating backs. "You know, never mind."

John, watching the exchange, looks down to hide his smile. The words may have all the old sarcastic hallmarks, but perhaps no one was more surprised than Rodney himself to find the little ways he mellowed with age, his tone less acerbic now he's spending more time teaching kids how to make kites and basic circuit boards and less time frantically saving the universe.

Rodney looks over, and catches John watching. "What?"

"Nothing, nothing," John says, grinning.

"You're a sentimental old fool, you do know that?"

John shrugs. "I'm just sitting."

Rodney laughs, muttering something or other, no doubt to do with John's inherent ridiculousness, but John pays him no heed. The bark at his back is warmed by the Lantean sun - home again after Atlantis' various manoeuvres through half the galaxy, or so it feels at times. But there's no need to hide any more; even the Wraith are no longer such a threat. Years of scientific advancement, frosty negotiations, and bursts of outright war have finally created an uneasy co-existence, those Wraith tribes still alive no longer dependant on human nourishment. It's still not a peace so much as an absence of fighting, but cullings are gradually being relegated to history and horror stories, nothing more.

Pegasus has been blooming with all the new opportunity this presents, the galaxy safer than any of the Earth expedition could have imagined when they first arrived decades ago. There's art everywhere, new technologies springing up like daisies, and it's entirely joyous, a period of fertility and endeavour that Teyla says outstrips anything she's ever heard of. Families are becoming dynasties, and warriors are laying down their arms to be engineers and tradespeople and schoolteachers.

Ronon has not picked up a gun in five years. Instead, he has made it his mission to find every last one of his people and gather up what is left of Sateda. He speaks of finding someone who can write down and record their history, but from what his comrades of old tell John, it seems that Ronon in fact possesses talents well-suited for epic verse, and that perhaps he is the one who is best equipped to tell Sateda's story.

That's what they do now, tell stories. They tell stories to the new Atlantis recruits, the impossibly young explorers who come anew from Earth, bringing reinforcements of all the skills that have kept the city afloat until now. John and Rodney are among the very last of the original expedition that still remain here, so many of the others lost or else returned to Earth. After all this time, John can't imagine how the planet he was born on could ever feel like a home again.

Rodney sinks down beside him. "It's today Torren's gracing us with his presence, yes?"

John nods. "You know, I keep telling him he doesn't need to visit us so often, he's running the city just fine."

"But we are seasoned veterans, wise in the ways of the world," Rodney replies, laughing. "Also, you'd go crazy if you didn't hear everything that was going on in Atlantis at least once a week."

"Oh right, like you don't have a whole team of scientists bribed and geared up to keep you in the loop just in case anything sufficiently cool happens."

"Gotta keep my options open," Rodney says. "You never know when they might come crawling to us and begging for our return."

"Uh huh. I don't know about you, but I'm definitely past that whole phase of running through heavily-wooded planets as a career."

"Oh well, that all had its moments."

John says nothing, just flashes a smile at Rodney before leaning back against the tree, head tilted up as he contemplates the potential merits of a brief afternoon nap.

"Incredibly sentimental," Rodney says, interrupting John's thoughts.

"And old," John agrees.

"Mmm," Rodney hums, picking up John's hand and tracing the lines across the surface, the whorls of his palm. "Not so much of a fool, though."

"What high praise, thank you."

John grins as Rodney looks about to protest and clarify his statement. He reaches over, his thumb tracing Rodney's jawline, a feature of that most beloved face still able to jut out in defiance or curve in softness.

"Everything's fine, it really is," Rodney says instead, as though he can sense John's thoughts.

"Yes," John agrees. "It is. I know."

But the saying of it still holds resonance, because it seems incredible, beyond any luck John has ever known. He feels such relief and pride and absolution, sensations he's entirely unfamiliar with and would be entirely overwhelmed by if it weren't for Rodney. Rodney, who keeps emotions that are just the same in check, who knows John better than anyone else alive. Rodney, who John loves with so much of his heart he's forever bursting with it, and somehow that's allowed, permissible, even beautiful.

"I," John says to Rodney, then realises he doesn't need to continue. He leans over underneath the dappled shadows of the tree they sit beneath, reaching out for Rodney's hands, his face, his lips.

"Hi," says Rodney, looking amused.

"Hi," John replies, and kisses him.

"Torren will be here in a few minutes," Rodney protests, murmuring against John's mouth.

"Let's make it a good few minutes, then," John replies, holding Rodney closer while careful not to distress his ageing bones.

"Unbelievable," Rodney may or may not mutter, but his hands still curl around John's shoulders, his happiness entirely evident, and that's all that John has ever really asked for.


End file.
